Strength, Arallia
by Evertor Rei
Summary: Arallia is always under the shadow of someone's protective arm, but her gaurdians never considered how much she would change when she is left to herself in the white city of Minas Tirath.
1. Prolouge

DISCLAIMER: Tolkien owns it all, except for the stuff he doesn't, which is mine.  Sue me if you want I'm to poor to care.

WARNING: if you worship Tolkien (which I do, to a degree) to the point any straying from his plot and world ticks you off, don't read this…come to think of it, I have no idea why you would be reading fanfics anyway. My point is I have tried to stay as LOTR PC as possible, but it has been a while since I read the books (any of them) so…give me a break…

Prologue (cause it's too short to be a chapter)

She has no wish, none what so ever, to be here.  She really should have fought harder, argued another way, maybe just pretend to be coming here, and when no one was watching…_No_,_ she told herself, gazing at the city rising in the distance,_ one of them would have found out in the end.__

            Arallia spurred her horse into a trot and set about posting as she reflected on her last argument with her two wizard mentors.  

            _"Much of the magic that was, for your kind, is now lost.  What little knowledge was written down resides in Minas Tirath" his voice was stern yet gentle_

_            "But it is as you say 'what _little_'.  You, here at Isenguard know so much already, and can help me fill in the rest, and if not you then Gandalf can." Frowning Arallia realized that was a week argument, but she continued anyway "I mean to say, there is no reason fro me to study anywhere but here and parts of the elvish realms. I am happy here."_

_Saruman watched here from his council chair.  He knew what lay at the heart of the matter. "You should never fear returning to Gondor.  Mostly because no one will ever know who you are, and secondly because it is your land, you must learn to love it and not fear it"_

_            "Aragorn has learned to love it from a distance." Arallia spoke quietly watching the floor_

_            "Your brother loves it from a distance because he has no reason to love it close up.  He is bound as well to the north, you have a reason to go, and go you shall." Gandalf spoke from the corner.'_

And as always Gandalf was right, go she did, and here she was. Gandalf, who rode beside her, kept the pace easily, a small knowing smile on his face.  He knew, as always what went on in her mind.  They had made the journey together, over a week's ride.  Though Gandalf was a good travel fellow, Arallia just wished that she could have travled by her self.  _For all that is good in the world! I am in the 60's! She cursed to herself_.  Why is it that everyone insists on molly-codling me? _Having grown-up with the elves, she was no stranger to nature, and having grown up around rangers she was no stranger to living off of it.  But still it is, who did Gandalf put it? 'Hardly suitable for a lady to be crossing nations by herself.'.  Arallia sighed.  No matter how much she did not like it, she always gave in.  She was not the strong resolute person her brother was.  Her brother…it always came back to him._

            "You will like it here; it _is_ in your blood." Gandalf reassured her, bringing her out of her thoughts as the two riders approached the gates. "Plus the library is top notch." He added waving to the guardsman who peered at them over the wall.

            But the guardsman was not the only person to see the two riders enter.  Far and way lay unfriendly eyes, sharp eyes, he saw his pray enter there, and he was patient.


	2. Eyes of the Silent

For a week now Arallia had been in Minas Tirath, met the Steward (who was a nice man, if not self-absorbed, but Gandalf respected him, so Arallia heeded his words), become acquainted with the Keeper of the Library, and settled into her rooms.  Gandalf had been with her for most of the time, leaving when she was deep in study to attend to 'affairs'.  The one thing Arallia had trouble with was finding the appropriate material to study.  She had, to date, found nothing.

Which was not surprising as Arallia, among everyone in Middle Earth, was unique.  That is to say, no one possessed the magic she has, it was thought long dead.  Lord Elrond has been the first to notice it, in the way she walked the forest, swam in the rivers, and (to use a cliché) played with fire. Literally.  Elrond then realized that the blood of Numenor was so strong in Arallia that she had the magic that was though to have died in ages long passed, for no man living still remembers it.  When she was 10 years old Elrond began tutoring her in what he could, who the forest grew and lived, how the weather worked, the flow of the tides and rivers.  He even taught her a little elven magic and healing.  Soon, though it proved too little and so at 25 years she was taken by her brother to the forests of Lothlorien to learn under the care of Galadriel.  For another 15 years she studied under Galadriel's tutelage.  It was there that Galadriel discovered Arallia's greatest secret.

            Arallia was not impatient, merely after a week's looking and nothing to show she would go and ask Gandalf's aid.  She found him outside his rooms, standing on a balcony over looking the city.  He was somewhat bent, leaning on his staff.

            "Gandalf? I was wondering if I could ask you a service."  Arallia said fiddling with the silk cord which encircled her high-collard dress of simple blue material.

            "Ah, my child! I was just about to go look for you, but I found it hard to tear my eyes away from such a marvelous landscape, it is beautiful at night is it not?"  Gandalf beckoned to her with an enshrouded arm.

Arallia took it and joined him at he edge "Yes I suppose it is…" She trailed off knowing what he was getting at.

"Before you make your request, I must tell you that I will take my leave in the morning, I am needed to the north.  Soon, at least, I will be needed to the north that is." He corrected himself with a bit of a smile.  Arallia didn't understand.

"You know this?"  Arallia was confused, and never quite sure if he had foresight or not.

"I am a wizard my dear, I know most things.  Most things."

"But not all" Arallia said smiling

"Well…" He trailed

"So I am leaving already?  I have not found anything."

"Oh no my dear you misunderstand me, I am leaving you are staying."

"Alone?"  Arallia's voice was hollow.

"There are plenty of people here, you will be fine.  Now, what did you want of me?"  He asked razing his bushy eyebrows.

"Nothing, nothing.  I was just bored." Alone? For how long? "When will you be back?"  She asked Gandalf, who had moved away from her at the ledge

"Oh, I don't know, I suppose in a while, if you are here for to long, Saruman will come and get you, don't worry, he is never farther than a pool of water away."  Her winked at her, "I need to see the Steward, and pack, I'll see you before the night is out."  He left then, leaving Arallia to her thoughts.

Alone?  She had never been alone, never.  When she traveled she traveled under the company of elven rangers, or with her brother and northern rangers.  When she studied at Isenguard she did so with Saruman or Gandalf.  When she had lived in Rivendell she had lived in the house of Elrond, and that was always busy.  Never had she lived alone.  Where was she to eat? When? When was she to get up?  Or…She paused in thought, realizing what she sounded like.  For goodness sake! She was in her 70s! She was a woman, not as old as the humans of Gondor, but still for the Dunedain, she was a woman! Not some girl of 20 running around the forests playing tag with the other children!  She would get up when she woke up, and she would get food from the kitchen!  By broken throne of the north, she would figure it out!  She grasped the stone ledge with the firmest grip she could muster, a bold strong look, a new look, ignited in her features, and she whirled at the sound of boots on stone, her heart beating in her throat.

*                                                   *                                                         *

Boromir, eldest son of the Steward of Gondor, and heir to said stewardship, was on his way to see Gandalf.  He walked up the drafty passages, his boots striking the flagstones, the sounds echoing off the walls, interrupted every now and then by the dampening of carpets.  Just before Gandalf's rooms Boromir walked by a balcony, and saw a figure standing there, a woman.  When he stopped she must have heard him, because she whirled, causing her hair, already wafting in the breeze, to stream across her face.  The blackest hair he had ever seen, flowing over her alabaster skin like a river at midnight.  In the center of two strands lay pools of the deepest violet possible, proud eyes full of courage and determination, and maybe a little fear.  She stood her hands limp at her sides, her slim figure robed in blue.  She was gorgeous, and all he could do was stand there and stare back as she lifted a delicate hand to pull her hair out of her face and behind her ear, which he almost expected to be pointed.

 *                                                 *                                                           *

Arallia looked at the man, a large Gondorian man, who stood with one hand on the hilt of a large sword, completely oblivious to the world around him.  She was so shocked by his sudden entrance that she almost apologized and blushed for her thoughts, which she eventually remembered were just her thoughts, so she had no idea how to react.  She waited for him to say something as her heart slowed down, and she pushed her hair out of her eyes.  Around then she realized how richly dressed (and handsome, in a rough sort of way) he was, and decided maybe she should say something first.  Maybe not, as her shyness took over.

*                                                  *                                                            *

Was she some figment of his imagination, such beauty?  No, she was real, the wind moved her hair, and she blinks.  Give me strength, Boromir though, gripping his sword hilt (which he had no idea he was gripping), tighter.

*                                                      *                                                           *

Arallia noticed this and tried again, this time saying "Are you going to use that my lord?"

The man looked completely confused before realizing he was gripping his sword hilt, and most likely frightening the lady "Oh no, I was er, but holding it, and I didn't mean"

Arallia cast down her eyes and bit her lip, trying to hide her laugh, the man seemed to take it otherwise and tried to apologize again "Oh no, I mean" he cleared this throat "No, I wasn't I'm sorry Mi'lady.  I had best be going." He bowed his head briefly and left in rather a hurry.

Arallia looked down the hall after him, but he was gone.  A few moments after, as Arallia headed back to her own rooms, she realized how much she regretted having spoken; breaking the silence they had met in.  Why, she had no idea.

*                                                      *                                                            *

Thanks, Leanan Sidhe, that means a lot, I love working with Characters, giving them personalities, keep reading, and tell me if I can improve the story!


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